goodbye, sweet angel
by ohprongs
Summary: "The thing is, Prim, I'm terrified of forgetting your smile, your eyes, your hair in the sunlight. I miss you so much, and yet every day you slip away." Katniss commemorates Prim's 21st birthday with a letter. Re-write of Always Remember, Never Forget.


**A/n:** because Primrose.

**Disclaimer:** Characters, plot, sitcheeayshuns, everything owned by Suzanne Collins (and Lionsgate, now, I suppose?)

Title inspired by Paloma Faith's _My Legs Are Weak_.

* * *

Prim,

I'm not usually one for words, I know, but I felt I needed to mark this with a letter. That's what Father always did, wasn't it? He wrote us notes, messages; he wrote Mother page after page of elaborate declarations and lyrics, writing, writing, writing. And on anything he could find, too: do you remember that time when he started carving into that piece of bark?

But, yes: it's your birthday. Congratulations! Peeta made you a cake. I just know you would've loved it. It's one of the ones that you used to spend hours gazing at in the bakery window, all those years ago - before everything that happened. You know how funny you were, a tiny five-year old dragging her sister through the streets till we'd gotten to this one display. I'm sure you'd have slept by it if I'd let you! I couldn't remember which one was your favourite, but he iced it with pure white and yellow primroses. A little twee? Forgive me.

Did I tell you we got married? Peeta and I. Yes, we finally tied the knot. Came as a bit of a surprise to everyone - most of all me. I reckon you knew from the start, though, didn't you, Little Duck? You always knew me too well for your own good, even when I tried to hide from you. It was a simple little ceremony. Mother came down, and Effie, and Delly and a couple of others who survived the bombings turned up too. Haymitch was there - could hardly walk straight but he managed to get down the aisle and give me away (I figure he's been waiting for that for a long time). He's as surly as ever but wished us well. Peeta looked very handsome.

I wore that dress, the one you loved, with the roses and the ringlets. It was hard without Cinna, but it was harder without you. My little bridesmaid. You'd have been radiant.

Like I said, it's your birthday. I confess, I got you a little something too. Since we returned I've made an effort to talk to more of the residents from home, and the new people who decided to come to 12 after the executions and - well, I don't really want to go into that here, Prim, but long story short, I've struck up a friendship with one of the ladies who works at the Dairy in town. I was walking past it one day and the smell of fresh goat's cheese was overwhelming; I was transported back to being barely thirteen and watching you make up the cheese from Lady's milk. I couldn't help myself and brought some (a little indulgence never hurt on a special occasion) and I wrapped it up in leaves, like you used to. I left it on the table this morning, too, like you did on the day of the Reaping that started it all. I hope you don't mind, but I ate without you.

You know, sometimes I just have to sit down and think about you for a while. You see, the thing is, Prim, I'm terrified of forgetting. Forgetting your smile. Your eyes. Your hair in the sunlight. I miss you so much, so terribly, and yet every day you slip away.

Peeta says it's good: I'm moving on.

I know he's suffered loss too, (more, perhaps, than I) but he's wrong. You don't move on. You get on.

People tell me that it was cruel you were ripped from our lives so soon before you'd even gotten the chance to live yours. Cruel doesn't even come close, Prim. I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

They say that I should be thankful, though, happy, because you were always happy. You were a little ray of sunshine, they say. That's true. You were the only light in the bleak grey that was my existence.

But enough of my melancholy wallowing - it's your birthday. Your 21st, to be exact. Where has the time gone? It's hard to believe - we're back in 12, Greasy Sae's still selling her ingenious concoctions, Haymitch is still drunk, Peeta's still baking, I'm still hunting. It's as if nothing has changed around here… not true, of course. Everything's changed.

My baby sister, 21. Huh, that makes me feel old. But as long as I live, even though the details might slip away, I'll never forget you. You're with me, always. Happy birthday, Primrose Everdeen. I love you.


End file.
